Ancient Medieval Romance
by AnthroQueen
Summary: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times... and we're going to have a problem.


**Hey friends! I'm back! So yeah. Last year we all received the spoiler that Season 3 was going to be Jeff/Annie based, so in response to make myself feel better I wrote "Emotional Responses and Human Nature." Now, this year, we received the spoiler at ComicCon that Season 4 Troy/Britta's romance is going to be, and I quote, "revved up." Cue gag reflex. So in response and to make myself feel better, I wrote this. :)  
**

**Season 3 really wasn't that bad, in terms of Jeff/Annie. I can only hope Season 4, and Troy/Britta, is the same. Also, the lobster scene is based off of that in the Woody Allen film "Annie Hall." Great movie!  
**

* * *

Ancient Medieval Romance

His eyes blur over the jumbled script of his History textbook and he has to glance away a moment to regain his focus, but instead a simple action to his right catches his eye. He watches the highlighter run a clean path along the line of text its user wants to remember, leaving a smooth pink block of color in its wake. A pause, a few lines of text left black and white, and then the highlighter is at it again, emboldening the final line of the paragraph before being laid flat, its user forgetting it for a moment to scribble something down in her adjacent notebook. He watches this pattern repeat itself, his own reading forgotten.

"Why are you staring at me?"

Jeff awakens from his reverie, eyes lifting to meet the deep blue ones owned by Britta Perry. She's glancing at him expectantly, most likely wondering why her studying habits are of such fascination to him, and Jeff momentarily pauses in an attempt to think of an answer. Britta's question has also gained the attention of Annie and Pierce, the other two occupants of the study room; the latter shrugging and going back to his catnap, the former releasing her purple pen from her teeth and glancing in between the two, as if trying to read something that isn't really there. Jeff, at a loss for words, matches Pierce's shrug and shakes his head.

"I'm not," He feigns nonchalance. "Just… nice pink pen. I thought conforming to gender roles wasn't your style?"

"It's a highlighter, not a hoop skirt," Britta says, shooting him a look that told him she's currently thinking he's the oddest person on the planet for bringing this up. "I didn't know where the yellow one was."

"Oh," Jeff says simply and turns back to their assigned chapter on Alexander the Great, trying not to feel like a bumbling idiot caught staring at a pretty girl. This seems to be happening more and more, lately. He lifts his pencil and begins to jot down a few notes, trying hard to ignore Britta's concerned glance.

Her attention is won, however, but Troy and Abed entering the room just then and she no longer pays Jeff any mind. Jeff watches, irritably, as her face brightens and she stands to welcome Troy into the room with a hug. He responds by hugging back just as eagerly and kissing her cheek, which makes Jeff's entire visage darken, his grip on the pencil tightening until he hears a sickening crack and glances down to find splintered pieces of wood and graphite littering the table. Abed, from the opposite side of the table, glances up at this and prepares to make a comment, but catches Jeff's menacing glare and instead says nothing.

"Okay, we can start!" Annie says gleefully, but glances to her left and frowns. "Wait, where's Shirley? Did you guys see her when you came in?"

Abed negates this, shaking his head, and Troy states, "I texted her already to ask if she was okay. She hasn't gotten back to me yet."

"That was really sweet of you," Britta compliments airily and Troy beams at her.

"Thank you," He responds and Jeff is still brooding. Is he the only one who's bothered by their new relationship? He tries to tone down his nausea as Troy continues, "I hope we can still go to her house for dinner tonight. Otherwise it's my night to cook and I have nothing planned."

"I'm sure we can figure something out!" Britta tells him just as Annie is about to offer up a solution. Jeff turns to her, spirits lifting slightly as he realizes he may actually have an ally, but the brunette only shrugs and grins gleefully at Troy's prospective new romance. Jeff, ally lost, goes back to sulking.

It's then that Shirley enters the room, disheveled and clearly beyond irritated. She's talking to herself, well, more like arguing with herself, as she yanks out her chair behind the table and throws herself in it, her anger radiating out from her with everything she has. Everyone shares a look before Annie tentatively asks, "Shirley? Are you… okay?"

"No," She whines. "Andre's parents are coming from Baltimore this afternoon. They absolutely hate me! I swear; they loved that stripper slut Veronica more than they loved me, their daughter-in-law, the mother of their grandchildren! And they treat Ben differently than Jordan and Elijah, too, because of the circumstances under which he was conceived and I'm sorry, but I can't do dinner tonight, because now I have to entertain _them_!"

She begins to wail, with Annie patting her shoulders comfortingly. "Shirley, I'm sorry!"

"And this morning I brought this up with Andre," Shirley cries. "And we just got into this _huge_ fight about it because he thinks I'm just imagining these things, but I'm not! I'm not and they hate me and they hate Ben and they think we let Jordan and Elijah have too much sugar and they… they… I really wanted to host dinner for you guys! I was going to make lobster!"

"I love lobster," Troy frowns and Annie shoots him a reproachful look, because this admission makes Shirley sob even harder.

"Shirley, in-laws are the worst," Pierce tells her. "My third wife's father tried to run me over with a tractor. I know how they can be-"

"Pierce, Shirley's dealing with _real_ problems," Jeff scolds, finally bringing himself into the conversation. "We don't have time to get caught up in your ancient history."

"I don't even want to go home," Shirley swallows noisily and wipes her eyes on a tissue she's produced from her oversized bag. "Because I know they're going to be there and they're going to be nitpicking everything."

"Shirley, you're better than these people," Troy says unhelpfully. "Just go home and tell him to go suck it."

"Welcome to an adult conversation," Jeff says sarcastically before turning to Shirley and saying, "Look, tell them you have class tonight and can't make dinner. And… we can have dinner at my place."

"Really?" Shirley asks hopefully, a watery smile adorning her face. The rest of the group is just as shocked, since not one of them- except for Britta, obviously- had ever been to his apartment.

"Yeah," Jeff states adamantly, chancing a glance at Britta, who's looking incredibly impressed with him. It's giving him feelings he doesn't completely understand, so he fixes his gaze back on Shirley. "Yeah, really. All of you, dinner at my place tonight, time pending. I'll… I'll even make lobster."

"Yes!" Troy shouts enthusiastically. "I'm in!"

"Me too," Annie grins. "Sounds nice!"

"Jeff making dinner?" Abed comments. "I'm watching."

"I'll be there," Britta smiles at him and Pierce shoots Jeff a wink.

"You can count on me amigo!"

"Thank you, Jeffrey," Shirley says earnestly. "That sounds lovely."

With all the excitement over dinner that evening and the thrilling mystery of finally getting to see Jeff's place, the group's study session turns into more of a gossip session and as they head off to History class later on, they realize they aren't completely prepared for their quiz on the medieval period. Jeff deliberately heads out the door first, to avoid walking behind Troy and Britta, Greendale's new class couple. But as he turns the corner, he notices Britta's waiting for him, not Troy, and she begins to walk beside him in an attempt for conversation.

"Dinner at your place, huh?" She questions, nudging his arm with elbow as he again tries to avoid looking at her for more than a few seconds, afraid she'll call him out again.

"Yeah, I guess so," Jeff nods, waving awkwardly at Quendra who winks and blows him a kiss from her locker. "What could I do? Shirley was freaking out."

"No, it was really considerate of you," Britta approves. "Which is why I have to ask- who are you trying to impress?"

Jeff rolls his eyes. "I want to do something nice for my friend and you're accusing me of having an ulterior motive?"

"I'm just saying," Britta defends. "The Jeff Winger I know survives on lean chicken and Wheat Chex. Now you're making lobster for six?"

"Six?" Jeff wonders, alarmed he's miscounted, and she shoots him a look.

"Jeff," She states in an obvious tone. "I'm a _vegetarian_. As if I'm about to eat something with a face."

"Right," He smirks. "Anyway, it'll be fine. And if it helps Shirley escape her awful in-laws, it'll be worth it."

Britta begins to reply, but Troy catches up with them then, and wraps and arm around Britta's shoulders. "Hey guys! Jeff, thanks for dinner tonight, man."

"Yeah," Jeff frowns. "See you in class."

He ducks away from them and heads up the hall, mood dampening once more, and realizes that he has absolutely no idea how to cook lobster.

This is going to prove to be a problem.

* * *

Jeff sends out a mass text to everyone in the group- except Britta- after class telling them dinner is at seven.

He then texts Britta and tells her dinner's at five.

He's stupid and he's a complete coward, but somehow, this makes him feel like he's in control again. Ever since their final year had started a few weeks ago, Jeff had felt his resolve crumbling, his control diminishing, his place in the group slipping away. Suddenly things were happening that made zero sense to him- Pierce was hosting a get together at his mansion in October and they are actually planning on going, Abed has convinced everyone to accompany him to an Inspector Spacetime convention, and, of course, Troy and Britta are _seeing_ each other. Jeff's not sure when they became what they are now- maybe he'd been too preoccupied the previous year- but he's feeling incredibly uneasy about the entire thing.

Except… he's the only one. It had been Annie's dream for Troy and Britta to get together, so she's pleased the two have fallen into a sort of "thing." Pierce honestly couldn't care less if people were dating or not and Abed, though at first commenting on the changing group dynamics, noticed how happy it had made his two friends, and let it go. Jeff's final hope had been Shirley, who had always been his supporter, but even Shirley had grown accustomed to it. But still, Jeff's ill at ease with their so-called relationship. Something about the two of them rubbed him the wrong way; something felt _off_. And as the weeks in September waned on, Jeff realizes not only a certain uneasiness but also a feeling of loss.

And that scares him, because _why_ would he feel that way? Britta was never "his" to begin with; why did he feel like he lost her to Troy? It's after he acknowledges this feeling that he begins to notice the little things about her; her studying habits, the girly habit of twisting her hair when she's bored in class, the way she bites the inside of her cheek when she's thinking. He begins to catch himself staring at her- those rare times when _she_ doesn't catch him staring at her- and it freaks him out a little, how frighteningly beautiful she is and what they could have had, if they'd wanted it. And he does want it, he realizes, because he can't stop staring at her, can't stop thinking about her, can't stop _feeling_ for her. But it's too late, now. He has to watch from the sidelines because he was too scared to play the game.

His apartment is fairly ready for company; it's the meal that's going to be challenging. He's never made lobster before and is relying on a PDF recipe he's found on the internet. The paper bag of six live lobsters is waiting patiently on his counter because he hasn't gathered the courage to reach in and begin. There's something unsettling about this, Jeff thinks, as he peers in and meets the beady eyes of two of the lobster, staring back at him with a look reading, "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" Jeff glances away and begins to bring a large pot of water to a boil just as there is a soft knock on his front door.

Jeff's trying not to look smug as he crosses the apartment towards the door. When Britta realizes she's the only one here- and would be for the next two hours- she isn't exactly going to be pleased, but he needs time to talk to her, time to hang out, because they hadn't spent time together in a long time. He fixes his hair, straightens his tie- yeah, now he _is_ trying to impress someone, okay?- and opens the door to reveal Britta, who's wearing boots, jeans, and a semi-formal deep purple blouse, but compared to Jeff's dress shirt and tie, she says, "Wow, is this a fancy dinner? Should I have dressed up more?"

"No, no," Jeff steps aside and motions for her to come in. "You look great."

"Thanks," Britta smiles, dropping her purse on one of his armchairs, just as she had so many times before. "Oh, am I early? I'm first one here."

"Seems that way," Jeff says, quickly changing the subject. "So… you wanna give me a hand?"

"Sure," She follows him into the kitchen, where he promptly hands her the paper bag and she peers in. "What is this?"

"Dinner," He states simply and her eyes widen.

"You haven't cooked them yet?" Britta's alarmed as she glances at Jeff who shakes his head. "What the hell? Why not? You know how I feel about living things becoming meals! Keep this away from me!"

She pushes the bag towards Jeff, but he doesn't grab hold in time; instead, the bag goes careening down to the floor, lobsters spilling onto the hardwood and creeping and crawling around the room. Jeff jumps back in alarm. "What the fuck?! Why did you do that?!"

"Me?! You were supposed to catch it!" Britta says incredulously. "Help me pick them up!"

"Are you kidding me?" Jeff shakes his head, adamant. "I'm not touching those things! They have claws! They're alive!"

"Of course they're alive!" Britta insists. "Don't be a baby. They're completely harmless."

"If they're so harmless, then _you_ pick them up!"

"Fine!" Britta stoops down, lifts a lobster that's been slowly crawling towards her, and brings it to her face. "Hi, buddy! It wasn't my fault you and your friends fell out of the bag, right? Right! It was Jeff's because he can't grab a bag on time! Yeah, yeah, you get me!"

Jeff, who has backed into the corner, looks at her like she's insane. "Okay Lobster Whisperer, can you get the other ones now?"

"Sure, hold this one," Britta hands Jeff the lobster that's in her current possession and Jeff dives out of the way.

"Are you kidding? I'm not touching that!"

She laughs and chases him towards the other corner of the room with it. "Come on, Jeff. Just take it!"

"No! Get it away from me!" Jeff dodges her again as she laughs out loud and heads towards the stove. "Here- put it in the pot."

Britta gasps, horrified. "No way! I'm not putting a living thing in boiling water! If you want lobster so badly, _you_ put it in there!"

"I don't want to touch them!"

"Well I'm not cooking them!"

"Someone has to!"

"Then it's going to be you!"

"I'm not touching those fucking things!"

"Jeff," Britta's laughing so hard she has to pause to catch her breath, clutching the stitch in her side. She offers the lobster she's holding once more. "Just take it. Stop being a wimp. You can do it."

He glances at her and at the lobster before reaching over and lifting it from her grasp. He's holding it as if it was poisonous, a hazardous toxin that could potentially harm him, and it starts Britta on a whole new round of laughter. "I have to get a picture of this," She chuckles. "Hold on! Hold on- I'll be right back!"

She strides into the living room for her phone and Jeff is left in an uneasy position- alone with the menacing lobster. He says awkwardly, "Hey man… Nothing personal, I swear."

As if it heard him, the lobster squirms a bit in Jeff's grasp, catching the skin of his hand between its claws. "Ow! Britta, this fucking thing pinched me!"

She shrieks with laughter and reenters the kitchen, phone in hand. "Okay, smile! Don't give me that look, Jeff! You signed yourself up for this!"

His smile is more of a grimace and the moment he sees the flash, he lifts the cover on the pan and slams the lobster into the boiling water. "And goodnight. See you on my plate."

Britta winces as if he's just caused her physical pain, reaching down to pick up another lobster off the floor. "How can you do that?"

"Like this," Jeff takes the lobster from her and again, slams it into the pot.

She shakes her head, her tone scolding as she says, "You're a murderer."

"Yep. Just call me Jeffrey Dahmer." He winks and she rolls her eyes.

It's then that she notices it's almost five thirty. Jeff's finally succeeded in getting all six lobsters in the large pot of boiling water when Britta asks, "Where's the rest of the group? They're late."

"Yeah, about that," Jeff begins, turning towards her. "Dinner's not until seven."

Britta cocks an eyebrow. "No, you said it was at five."

"Yeah, I told _you_ it was at five," Jeff says hesitantly. "I told _them_ it was at seven."

Britta, instead of looking angry, actually looks bemused. "Is there a reason you wanted me here alone?"

"Maybe," His hands are shaking and it doesn't have anything to do with the lobster, anymore.

She tilts her head to the side, asking, "What do you want, Jeff?"

In retrospect, he could have handled her question better than he did, but for some reason the way she asked, the context in which she asked, and _what_ she asked all seemed to be an open invitation. He eyes her hungrily and she seems to understand without an answer what it is he's longing for, but before she can protest with her usual mantra-_ This is a bad idea_- Jeff pins Britta against the cool stainless steel and kisses her like he's wanted to for so long. It's gratifying and rewarding; the moment their lips connect it's like this giant weight has been removed from his shoulders. The pressure is off; he feels relieved, fulfilled, and satisfied.

But his mind fights World War III over what he's doing. This might be what his heart wants, but his mind knows better, his mind thinks otherwise. Greendale has given him somewhat of a moral compass; a conscience he had not had as a defense attorney all those years ago. He knows that even though this is what he wants, it doesn't make it the right thing to do. Troy is his friend and look at what he's doing to him, instead of being happy for him. Same goes for Britta; but at the same time, Jeff thinks, they're not technically _together_. Sure, they have a "thing" going on, but could you really call that dating? Is it real? They aren't _right_ together… Jeff sees that. Jeff _knows_ that. Why doesn't anyone else?

And the thing that keeps him going, the thing that's driving him forward, is that Britta's not stopping this. She isn't protesting, she isn't pushing him away, she isn't even _questioning_ it. She's kissing him back with almost as much force and eagerness as he is her, which tells Jeff that in some bizarre way, she wants this too. She's clutching him, he's gripping her, and they're making out against his giant, industrial-sized fridge, making up for lost time and completely disregarding their priorities, their morals, their time. When they pull apart, breathing uneven, Britta stares at him, her glance questioning, and Jeff has only one answer.

"Don't date Troy."

Britta frowns. "Don't tell me what to do."

"No," He seems frustrated, but with himself, not with her, as if he's planned this moment for awhile and it's going differently than he'd expected. "Don't date Troy."

"Why not?" Britta wonders. "If you're going to make this demand of me, you better give me a good reason."

"Because you don't want to be with him."

She shakes her head and now she's frustrated. "That's not a good reason, Jeff!"

He looks as though he's struggling with his feelings, but he finally says, "Because _I_ don't want you to be with him! Because I hate seeing you two together! Because you don't _fit_ with him…"

Britta pauses, her previous outburst of anger seeming silly, now. She isn't sure what to say, so to avoid saying something she'd regret, she turns around and opens the refrigerator, picking out lettuce and an array of vegetables, telling him, "I'll start on the salad."

Jeff nods slowly and turns his attention back to the lobster, shocked to find they've already turned a bright red. The two cook in silence for another fifteen minutes, the only sound being Britta's knife hitting the cutting board as she chops carrots and cucumbers, before Jeff draws in a deep breath and says, "Britta…"

"Jeff, I don't know what you want me to say," She says truthfully, not taking her eyes off her work. "I'm sorry it bothers you. I didn't even think… I guess I just thought that whatever you and I had was so long ago that you wouldn't care."

"Of course I care," Jeff rolls his eyes. "I care about you. I want you to be happy. I just… I knew Troy had a crush on you. I just didn't think it would ever… _become_ anything."

"Well it hasn't, really," Britta tells him honestly. "We're just hanging out, right now. It's just… I don't know. It's casual."

For a split second, Jeff looks pained. "Like… Like you and I were 'casual'?"

"Oh God, no. Not like that," Britta assures him. "We haven't _done_ anything. I swear. It isn't like that."

Jeff's silent for a moment before remembering something Britta had told him earlier on in the year. "You told me I was emotionally closed off in bed. That's why we never became anything more than friends with benefits. It was my fault, wasn't it?"

"Yes and no," She answers. "I didn't want a relationship either. I still don't, Jeff; that hasn't changed. But if I _had_ wanted one… I don't think you would have."

There's more cutting and Jeff sets the table before asking, "I just want to start over. I fucked up everything; I probably could have had a shot with you if I wasn't such an asshole at the beginning. And then the whole thing with Slater and Annie and I just… I fucked up, Britta. Do you think you and I can just start over?"

This time, Britta turns to face him, to look him in the eyes. "No. I don't think so."

Before he can implore why, he hears voices in the hallway and a few eager knocks on the door. Jeff takes one long, lasting look at Britta and goes to answer the door, allowing the five others entrance into his home and leading them into the kitchen. When they enter, Britta's just putting the finishing touches on the salad and Troy asks, "I texted you like a million times! Why didn't you answer?"

"Sorry," Britta avoids his gaze. "I was just busy."

"You got here early!" Annie comments, taking a seat at Jeff's kitchen table as he begins to serve them all lobster.

"Yeah," Britta replies half-heartedly. "Must be my new thing."

Once everyone's been seated and served, they begin eating and chatting, commenting immediately on Jeff's apartment and the deliciousness of the meal. But Jeff's subdued and only takes these compliments with a mere nod of gratitude. Abed frowns, tilting his head to the side and noting, "You aren't eating anything."

"No," Jeff agrees, avoiding Britta's glance once more. "I'm not very hungry."

* * *

The next morning, a Saturday, Jeff wakes up with the sunrise and dresses for a run. He's lacing his sneakers and trying to think of anything but how he royally fucked up his chance with Britta once more. Maybe if he hadn't come on so strongly, or pleaded with her for a do-over, or asked her to stop seeing Troy then she might have considered giving them another chance. But this would be the _third_ time and is anything worth it, after that? He's disappointed, sure, but he's sure he'll get over it. He _has_ to, because this, right now, is killing him.

It's six-thirty when yanks open his front door, prepared to head out, but before he can, he has to stop himself, because Britta is sitting on the floor of the hallway, leaning against his front door, and nearly topples over onto the threshold of his apartment as he pulls the door open. She scrambles to a standing position and Jeff is staring at her, confused and a little worried, because her exhausted appearance suggests she's been there a while and he can't figure out why. She doesn't move to come inside but instead smiles tentatively at him, greeting, "Morning…"

"Britta, what are you doing out here?"

"I, um, I couldn't sleep," She explains. "So I… I came back."

"When?"

"Around three or four," She tells him. "Some drunken teenagers let me in."

"Why didn't you knock?" He wonders and she shrugs.

"I didn't want to wake you up."

Jeff rolls his eyes. "Come inside."

She does and the two sit on his couch, neither one saying anything. Finally, Britta says, "I talked to Troy last night, after dinner. I told him what happened last night. He said if I still have feelings for you then we shouldn't be doing what we're doing… I agreed. He told me I was the worst… Nothing new there."

She chuckles bitterly and Jeff places a hand on her knee. "You're not the worst, Britta. We might joke around and say that but… No one believes it."

"Go tell that to Troy," She frowns and Jeff nods.

"I will," He insists and then, hesitantly, adds, "So… You still have feelings for me?"

She nods but before Jeff can get too excited, says, "I don't understand why you want a do-over. The only reason you ever liked me is because you wanted to have sex with me and you've done that already. Multiple times, even. So why bother? Why play the game again?"

"We're seriously going to go through this again?" Jeff asks, almost angrily. "You honestly don't see why someone would like you?"

"No," She crosses her arms over her chest. "I ruin everything. Wherever there's fun and excitement, I destroy it. I have a really difficult time making friends and an even harder time keeping the ones I have made which is why I barely had any growing up and Greendale, _of all fucking things_, has shown me that. So no, I _really_ don't know why anyone would like me. Enlighten me."

Jeff stares at her, thoroughly surprised at her admission, that she sees herself like this, and begins. "Because. Because they would be _crazy_ not to. Because you're smart and you're cool and you're gorgeous. Because you've done things people only promise to do- you've been tear-gassed, you built a school in Kenya, you joined the Peace Corps. You have this undying need to fix people, to help people, and it's why you want to be a therapist, I'm assuming, which is something only certain people can do."

"Yeah, why I want to be a therapist," Britta scoffs. "It's for my own benefit."

"For your own benefit?" Jeff questions. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't want girls to end up like I did, okay?" Britta shouts, growing irrationally angry. "I don't want them to think that what happened is their fault! I don't want them to grow up thinking that everything their parents say is how things have to be! I don't want them to be unable to have a functional relationship because of some mistake that happened in the past and more importantly, I don't want them to think that the mistake was theirs!"

"Britta, calm down…" Jeff says, his entire manner concerned and confused.

"I want them to know they have someone to turn to," Britta grows quiet. "Someone to talk to when things get out of hand because I never had that. I want them to know that getting psychological help isn't the coward's way out and that it is beneficial. I want them to know that if they need someone, if they can't handle it on their own, if things get to be too much, I'm there. I know what they've been through. I _know_, even if I don't know them."

"Britta," Jeff, who's looking at her as if she's speaking another language, implores, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She's quiet now and she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. She's staring at her hands, jittering uneasily in her lap, and she doesn't say anything for a while. But just as Jeff's about to ask again, Britta exhales heavily and says, darkly, "It was my eleventh birthday, so I wanted to do something really special, you know? You only turn eleven once. Rollerama used to be my favorite place. It was one of those rollerblading rinks, with a jungle gym and carnival games, too. They also had this snack bar with the most amazing blue raspberry slushies _ever_. One sip of one of those things and your mouth was blue the rest of the day. I didn't have many friends, so it wasn't a _huge_ party, but it was enough."

"Anyway, they used to have these characters that would bring the cake out to the middle of rink and sing happy birthday to you," Britta continues and Jeff is waiting for the story to become relevant to the reasons why he shouldn't like her. "There was a tiger, a bear, a gorilla… and a dinosaur. Right before they were going to sing to me, I realized I had had like three slushies so I really needed to pee. I went into the girls' bathroom and there was the dinosaur. Except, he wasn't played by a woman, so I thought I had gone into the wrong bathroom. He grinned at me, he was missing two teeth, and said, 'No honey, you're in the right place.' And then he… He, um…"

She can't say it, but Jeff knows what comes next. He stares at Britta in shock; the only thing he can utter is, "Oh my God…"

"After, I skipped the birthday song and dance. I didn't even have one piece of cake. I went straight to the owner's office and told him what happened," Britta says, still staring at her hands. "He asked to see a parent and my father was the closest to the office, so I, again, repeated to them what had happened. And you know what my father said? 'Molested is a strong word, Britta. I doubt he did anything at all.' The bastard took that sicko's side. I was his _daughter_. I was eleven fucking years old and I had just been _violated_; any other father would murder that guy. But mine? He didn't give a shit. He didn't even talk to the guy. He just… let him get away."

It's the end of the story and when Britta finally looks at Jeff again, he's looking at her like she's a whole new person. "Britta…"

"Don't do that," Britta warns. "Don't you pity me."

"Britta," is still all he can say, because he doesn't know how to react. He wants to murder this guy and he wants to murder her father; he wants them to suffer until they've reached the amount of pain she's lived her entire life.

"I didn't tell you this to invoke sympathy," Britta tells him. "I told you this because we've known each other for three years now and… I thought you should know."

"I'm so sorry," Jeff says sincerely, because he isn't sure what else to say. He'd always known she had experienced some kind of emotional trauma; he just hadn't known the brunt of it.

"So there. _That's_ why no one likes me. I'm fucked up," Britta says. "I'm so messed up I can't even… I'm damaged goods, Jeff. There's no denying it."

"Maybe you are," Jeff tells her. "But so am I."

Britta's face crumbles. "You still want to be with me? Even after all of that? You'd take on all my baggage?"

"Of course," Jeff agrees. "Only if you take on mine."

This time it's Britta who initiates the kiss, flinging herself at him and attaching her lips to his. Learning this about her somehow makes him care about her even more and Jeff, his arms framing her shaking body in a form of comfort and protection, is eager to begin their new chance. Gaining a do-over isn't something he saw himself receiving, especially after what had happened between them over the past year- which was, in a word, nothing. He's thrilled she isn't with Troy and he's devastated to hear what had happened in the past; two conflicting emotions that need to be addressed. But, he thinks, as he continues to kiss Britta- and kiss her like he _means_ it- they had all the time in the world.

Because, hey, third time's the charm, isn't it?


End file.
